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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28368525">Oh my God, they were roommates...</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortexikid/pseuds/cortexikid'>cortexikid</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A year in the life of two roommates falling in love, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Crushes, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Wade and Peter celebrate many holidays together, and fall in love along the way, early 30s Peter Parker, oh my god they were roommates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:14:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,747</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28368525</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortexikid/pseuds/cortexikid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter had spent the majority of the last three months convincing himself that he wasn’t crushing on his new roommate. He just...wasn’t. Couldn’t be. Because this apartment was a steal, in a good part of the city and the commute was great for work. He couldn’t possibly put all that in jeopardy just because he happened to have a lot of things in common with a pretty sweet guy.</p><p>So, yeah.</p><p>No crush on Wade here.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker/Wade Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>375</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Oh my God, they were roommates...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/majel/gifts">majel</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy Holidays Everyone! Here's some shameless fluff to combat the shitshow that was 2020. Enjoy! :D</p><div class="center">
  <p>[Yellow Box] {White Box} </p>
</div>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <b>
    <em>JANUARY</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, big guy, you got this.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The spider blinked up at him with all of its far too many, beady, black eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>{Taunting little shit.} </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The spider reared back on its legs in a terrifying display of...dominance? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Taunting big shit.] </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade Wilson let out a shaky breath, clutching the shoe tighter in his hand as his gaze glued on the hairy </span>
  <span>arthropod that had invaded his home. </span>
  <span>The spider scuttled forward, the noise of his abundance of legs scuffing on the hardwood floor making Wade’s heart leap into his throat as he propelled himself up onto the couch with the velocity of a hyperactive kid on a trampoline. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t got this, I don’t got this, I don’t got—AH! BACK! STAY BACK CHARLOTTE’S WEB! I’VE GOT A YEEZY YECHEIL SNEAKER AND I’M NOT AFRAID TO—FUCK!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade threw the shoe with all of his might at the eight-legged-pest as it made a sudden dash for the couch. The sneaker bounced apathetically off the floor, straight over its creepy, bulbous body and directly into Wade’s dying Blushing Bromeliad. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Damn it, Kanye! Why are your sneakers so soft!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Those are definitely knock-offs, right?]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>{Oh yeah. Still ugly, though} </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, why did Bob choose </span>
  <em>
    <span>today</span>
  </em>
  <span> to go crawling back to his wife?” he groaned out loud, eyes peering around his apartment for a weapon to arm himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>{Dude. You have a legit arsenal}</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re a legit arsenal,” Wade growled, forlornly gazing at his closet which housed his personal armory all the way over on the other side of the room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His katanas. Glock. AK-47. Pepper Spray. Throwing Stars. The Penetrator. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>{Riiiiight. Because a giant, dildo-sword would come in so handy right now.}</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[LOL. ‘Come in hand-y.’]  </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The spider was directly under his coffee table now. He couldn’t see it anymore, but he knew it was still there. Glancing over to his kitchenette and back, Wade did some mental math from his perch atop the couch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I could ‘the floor is lava’ my way over to—GET BACK YOU ARAGOG MOTHERFUCKER!” he yelped, startling as the spindly legs peeked out from under the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay,” Wade took some not-so-calming breaths, “I can just jump. I’m—I’m plenty flexible. I can just—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Two solid knocks cut him off mid-plan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dead silence rang out as Wade’s heart hammered in his ears, confused at the intrusion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span> {Since when does the big guy get visitors?}</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[He got plenty of visitors when he lived with Blind Al]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>{Yeah, something tells me those geriatric gentlemen weren’t there for baldo at 11pm} </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, hello? Is everything okay in there?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade blinked at the voice wafting from behind his front door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span> [Sounds hot]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>{Can someone ‘sound hot’?}</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[This guy does] </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah. S’all good in the hood. No problemo...man.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A beat passed where Wade winced into next week.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really?” the voice called back, disbelieving, “it’s just...I heard screaming.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade frowned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was manly yelling!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard a quiet laugh, then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Manly yelling for help?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade stared at the sliver of at least four shudderingly-elongated legs that were still peaking out from under the Trulstorp that Al regifted him when she moved.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s so easy to assemble, a child could do it. Or, you know. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she had said with a parting drive-by that had him gagging for the rest of the day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suppressing a shiver at both the memory of his former-roommate’s fatal flatulence and the pest currently haunting his Ikea furniture, he forced his gaze back over to the door, heaving a sigh. Fuck it. He’d take his chances with Mystery Man. A wannabe, if overly-polite serial killer could at least provide him with a distraction. And maybe scare off Shelob in the process of Wade beheading him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh...the door’s open,” he called out, clearing his throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a slight pause before the handle began to turn and the door creaked open slowly, like something out of a low-budget horror flick that someone like Wade would never be the protagonist of. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span> [More like the antagonist, melted Mr Clean] </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade’s eyes bulged wide as they fell on Mystery Man who was, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span> incredibly hot</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span> [Told ya]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>{Blow me}</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Blow him more like] </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There, standing just on the threshold of his apartment, stood one of the most handsome men Wade had ever had the luxury of clapping eyes on. Tall, with dark hair, a little messy, in a natural kinda way, and lean but with noticeable muscle under his tight, burgundy henley. He was trim but strong. Like a gymnast or something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span> [He’s definitely more flexible than Freddy here] </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then there was his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His jaw, defined and peppered with a light stubble. His skin pale, but, (if Wade’s eyes didn’t deceive him) a smattering of freckles and two moles dotted across his nose and neck, respectively. His eyes, bright and hazel framed by thin, black-rimmed glasses. And his lips, a little flushed, turned up in a half-smile, aimed his way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade swallowed the lump in his throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh...hi?” the hot stranger offered a little wave, before cringing at himself and lowering his hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m Peter.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span> Peter. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shuffled awkwardly on the spot at Wade’s silence, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I uh...was just passing by, I was viewing the apartment to rent down the hall when I heard your…'</span>
  <em>
    <span>manly yelling</span>
  </em>
  <span>.'” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade tilted his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you decided to come investigate?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter shrugged.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wanted to help.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade blinked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My hero,” he responded a little sarcastically, winking at him before he could stop himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter’s smile morphed a little at that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But…” he began, giving a wave at the no doubt absurd-looking scenario he was presented with, “you clearly have things under control, so I guess I’ll just…” he took a step back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade let out an embarrassing squawk that he will 100% deny later, halting Peter in his tracks. Something flashed in his eyes at that, that had heat pooling in Wade’s stomach. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span> {Oh, no.}</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Big guy’s got a crush]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>{And it’s only been like ninety seconds. Must be a record.} </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No, don't go! I'm being held captive!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter's eyebrows raised as he glanced around the very empty apartment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Uh…by who?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"The eight-legged-freak chilling under my coffee table." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If Wade wasn't as transfixed on Peter's face as he was, he may have missed the slight twitch of his lips at that. If he felt anything even close to embarrassment anymore, now would've been an opportune time to flush. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"A spider? That's what had you screaming like a One Direction fan at a Harry Styles show?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade huffed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Uh, trust me, dude. I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>way</span>
  </em>
  <span> louder when I saw Harry. That man is just—" he cut himself off at Peter's widening smirk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Can you...just…" he waved his hand vaguely at the table, "</span>
  <em>
    <span>do something</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A definite chuckle rose from Peter's chest then, but he merely took his hands from his pockets and pointed over to Wade’s TV stand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Do you mind if I…?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade nodded, not caring if he suddenly wanted to plug in his old Guitar Hero and have at it, if it meant it would get IT from the last act of the '90s miniseries to fuck off. With permission granted, Peter very quickly and quietly made his way across the room, incredibly light on his feet, hardly making a sound. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Whoa, you'd make a great cat burglar," Wade marvelled, watching as Peter leaned over to pick up an empty glass and coaster.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Who says I'm not?" he threw over his shoulder, followed by a quick wink. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade’s heart skipped a beat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>{Fuck} </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Yeah. That's not gonna happen] </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then this is the weirdest home invasion I’ve ever had,” Wade ignored the nausea rising in his gut, his sudden nerves, nodding at the glass in Peter’s hand. “What...you thirsty?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter laughed at that. It rang throughout the room and did nothing to quench the butterflies that were flapping around in Wade’s stomach. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s called the glass and paper method,” he explained as if starting a lesson with a small child, sinking to the floor, “but in this case, a coaster will work too.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gently, he lifted the small table with ease, exposing the hairy invader in question.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, he’s a big one, alright.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span> {Don’t make the joke, don’t make the joke, don’t make the—} </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The spider suddenly shot out of sight, the faint tapping of his legs on the floor like nails on a chalkboard to Wade’s panicked brain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit! Fuck!” he leapt a foot in the air, bouncing on the couch cushions and almost bashing his head off the ceiling as he flailed, “Get it! Get the leggy bastard! Squish him!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter ignored him, walking quickly but still so lightly that before the spider knew it, (even from its new hiding spot under the kitchen chair), it was trapped in a glass case—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span> [Of emotion] </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>—and being lifted over to the slightly ajar window. Elbowing it further open, Peter then gently deposited the bane of Wade’s existence carefully into the flowerbox and deftly closed the window behind him. Wade watched silently as he shuffled back across the room, placing the glass and coaster down where he found them and turned to glance up at him.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you go. Threat gone. You can dismount now.” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice was just slightly smug, but mostly teasing, his smile contagious. Wade heaved a faux-sigh, gingerly stepping down off the furniture, as if weary the spider’s loved-ones were nearby and fancied a little avenging. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, your benevolent deed has been done for the day, good Sir,” he responded, adopting a regal-voice, as if addressing a knight, “may I repay thee with a beverage of some sort? Coffee? Tea? </span>
  <span>Archibald's Spiced Winter Apple Cider?”</span>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter blinked, seeming surprised, but oddly not put off by the impromptu invitation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>{Piss poor self-preservation skills, this guy}</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[What is he, a sexy blonde in a ‘90s slasher flick?]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure, uh, coffee would be great, thanks.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade gestured for him to take a seat as he breezed into his kitchen, ignoring the random clutter and taking out two mugs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, you were viewing an apartment down the hall?” he asked over his shoulder, trying to focus on the task at hand and acting as normal (for him) as possible despite being presented with an distractingly attractive houseguest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Peter replied, sitting down at the table, “2A? Evan Michaels’ place? He’s looking for a—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh you don’t wanna live with that guy,” Wade interjected, pouring some coffee into each of the mugs, “total weirdo.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span> [Uh, weirdos in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones] </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah? How so?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade gave a cursory glance, unable to keep his eyes to himself despite handling steaming liquid, drawn to the handsome stranger like a moth to flame. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you know. He’s a...science nerd or something. Always ranting about specimens and ‘don’t open that jar, Wade,’ ‘don’t sniff that, Wade,’ ‘don’t put your finger—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>We </span>
  </em>
  <span>prefer the term ‘scientist’, actually.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was said casually, matter-of-factly, almost as if Peter knew just how awkward he was about to make things.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade appreciated that in a man.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span> [You appreciate a lot about men] </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>{Particularly this one} </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” he asked for clarification like the dumb masochist he was, taking his time grabbing creamer, milk, sugar, honey (Bob had gone grocery shopping before fucking off back to Allison, thank god) and any other conceivable thing he would need to be a decent host offering a hot beverage, while coincidentally avoiding turning around. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Scientist,” the smile was evident in Peter’s voice now, “I’m one too. That’s why I answered the ad, actually. Thought it would be a good idea for science bros to stick together, you know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade squinted down at the chip in his Superman mug.  “Science bros?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter snorted, “Yeah, I regretted it almost immediately after saying it. It’s worse than science nerd.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That made Wade turn around. Chuckling, he snatched up some oreos and walked the tray (that Bob had insisted he buy in Ikea on their last trip - </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘What about when you have friends over, Wade?’ 'Weasel and Al don't need fine China, Bob'</span>
  </em>
  <span>) with everything over to the table and sat down. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He gestured for Peter to dig in, which he did, picking up the slightly chipped Deathstroke mug and adding a swirl of honey before raising his head and fixing Wade with an enigmatic stare.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade felt heat rise to his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Peter smiled. shrugging, “I’m just kinda surprised that a big guy like you would be scared of a little spider.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade almost dropped his own mug. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Little</span>
  </em>
  <span>?! He was the size of a fucking baseball! I’m pretty sure he’s the first cousin of a fucking tarantula! Fuck, remind me to never measure dicks with you, man, I don’t think my ego could handle it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter let out a hearty chuckle at that, shaking his head, surreptitiously looking around the almost-bare apartment. Wade tried and failed not to squirm and overthink his furbishing choices, or lack thereof. (Bob had been the one with the eye for interior design and unfortunately took a lot of shit with him on the way back to wedded un-bliss.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Besides,” Wade snorted, “I’d expect you to be the one afraid of those eight-legged-freaks. Considering what happened to you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter’s eyes narrowed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What happened to me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade blinked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Wait...so when he was a kid, he wasn’t bitten by a radioactive spider?]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>{Nope. Not in this universe anyway}</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Huh. A universe where Spidey isn’t Spidey. And big guy isn’t Deadpool. Well, not fully anyway. Sounds boring]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>{Sounds like a love story}</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Yeah, a boring one]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>{No, an ‘oh my god, they were roommates, friends-to-lovers, mutual pining’ extravaganza}</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[If you say so]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, nothing. I just meant you uh...you’re pretty brave.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something passed over Peter’s face at that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He told me about you, you know,” he spoke down into his coffee cup, “Evan.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade barely managed to suppress a wince at just what exactly his dear nosy neighbour could have imparted onto this handsome stranger about him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not that he really needed to,” he continued into his coffee, “you’re kinda famous ‘round here.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade tilted his head, sensing an elaboration coming. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You uh...helped my friend out once. She—her boyfriend—you got her out.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A beat of silence hung over them where neither acknowledged the various implications of that statement. Eventually, Wade broke the tension with a half-shrug.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m a private contractor.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter’s eyebrow quirked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s one way to describe it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I help people...for a price.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve heard.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another beat. Two.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You uh...you’re not gonna ask about,” Wade waved in the general direction of the carnage that was his entire face and body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter’s eyes raised slightly before he gave a gentle shake of his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not my business.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Oooooooh]</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>{We like this guy}</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You said you were looking for a place?” Wade asked suddenly, riding the wave of pleasant surprise at just about everything to do with this handsome stranger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter caught his eye.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, how serendipitous,” Wade faux gasped like a Victorian maiden, complete with palm on his chest, “it just so happens that</span>
  <em>
    <span> I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>looking for a new roommate.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s a ten dollar word,” Peter remarked drily and dammit Wade was about five seconds from leaning over and smacking a wet kiss on his cheek, he really was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Word of the Day calendar,” he waved over to the Golden Girl-themed birthday present from Al, proudly displaying ‘JANUARY 3rd’ and in smaller, cursive lettering, ‘Serendipitous’ and its definition underneath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Neat.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It really wasn’t. But Wade appreciated the compliment anyway. Seconds ticked by where Peter stared into his coffee, swirling it with his spoon, clearly thinking over things. Wade tried and failed to keep his shit together, hands jittery as he reached for an Oreo to shove in his face to douse the urge to break the silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rent is the same as Evan’s?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um mmph!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter smirked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade swallowed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[He always does] </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” he cleared his throat, nodding, “yeah. Rent’s the same. The Super can be a bit of a dick about—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s suspiciously low,” Peter cut across him, clarifying, “the rent. It’s under half what most places this side of the city go for. Anything I need to know?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade shrugged, “Guess the landlord isn’t much of a money guy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t sound like any landlord I’ve ever known.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Tru dat]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter drummed his fingers on the table, seeming to be silently arguing with himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[{We know the feeling}]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I see the bedroom?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade’s stomach lurched.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Isn’t this how most pornos start?]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>{Only the bad ones}</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, sure. Follow me for the grand tour.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And thus began an impromptu apartment-viewing, Wade hyper-aware of Peter’s presence at his back the entire time, making an assortment of noises and comments under his breath that he couldn’t decipher.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And this is where the magic happens,” Wade waved at Bob’s old bedroom, “well, not really. Bob didn’t entertain anyone but Rosey Palmer and her five sisters.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A beat passed between them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know, his right hand? Or was it left? I can’t remember what...” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck and opening the door wider. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter shook his head, a small smile spreading across his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This place is cool. A lot more space than Evan’s,” he murmured, stepping into the room and turning on the spot, eyes narrowed as if visualising his stuff there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah uh, there’s plenty of closet space and—I dunno what other shit people care about,” Wade waved a hand, going for nonchalant, “but the place is yours if ya want it. Saves me the hassle of trying to find someone to sublet.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Peter turned around, his hazel eyes catching Wade’s. He held out his hand silently, for him to take. Blinking, Wade did, ignoring the butterflies still flapping around in his gut as their fingers brushed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter smiled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When can I move in?” </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>FEBRUARY </em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Living with Peter Parker was surprisingly easy. Way easier than living with Bob had ever been. And Blind Al too, but Wade would never admit that. He was fond of his testacles being attached to his body, thank you very much. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before he knew it, they had been roommates for over a month. January slipping into February like Wade into his sexiest negligee. Most of the day, they lived their own lives. Wade taking odd jobs here and there, threatening stalkers here, knee-capping abusive husbands there, while Peter did his...science shit, mainly at his job at Oscorp Industries, but sometimes, in his bedroom. Wade had quickly learned to ignore the occasional explosion from behind closed doors as Peter had learned to ignore the occasional weapon left lying around on the kitchen table, atop the fridge, under the couch cushions, et cetera. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But sometimes, when their schedules aligned, Wade and Peter found themselves in the common areas of the apartment, the shared living space. It had been a little awkward at first, in the way that sharing space with a stranger tends to be, but that didn’t last very long. And the ease came in the form of bonding over videogames. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that Witcher 3?” Peter asked from over the lid of his laptop, where he sat perched at the kitchen table in the third week of January. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yep,” Wade replied distractedly, hyper-focussed on blocking an attack levelled at Geralt of Rivia.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You read the books?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yep.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Watch the show?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It has half-naked Henry Cavill. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course</span>
  </em>
  <span> I watched the show.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...and that had been the way Wade inadvertently tipped Peter off about his not-straight sexuality.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh well.</span>
  </em>
  <span> There were worse ways to come out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter, as was his wont, surprised him yet again by shrugging, wholly unbothered by the implication, “I know, right? I can’t wait for season 2.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade, for his own sanity, decided not to examine what that could mean too closely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>{Think that sanity ship has sailed, wrecked and sunk to the bottom of the ocean, big guy}</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And thus began their mutual appreciation of all things nerd. Peter introduced Wade to new videogames, Wade introduced Peter to the wonder of lesser-known indie comics, they binge-watched shows that the other hadn’t seen yet and replayed old movies and series, favourites from years past. Nearly every night, they stayed up sharing hobbies and pastimes, right up until February 14th - Valentine’s Day. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thing was, over the last two months, Wade had never heard Peter mention anyone. A </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone special</span>
  </em>
  <span> in his life. A significant other, girlfriend, boyfriend or non-binary beau. So he was at least 69% sure that the guy was single. Far too busy with his work life, keeping up with his aunt, and shooting the shit with his colleague and friend, Miles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which explained why he was so utterly confused to come home, late Saturday evening, excited for the continuation of their giant Supernatural marathon, only to find Peter standing in front of the mirror, dressed in nice slacks and tight navy shirt, holding up two ties, one burgundy, one emerald, a lost expression on his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without thinking, he closed the door with a loud snap, blurting out, “Lookin' good, Parker! Hot date tonight?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The startled jump and crimson blush that bloomed beautifully across the brunet’s face were answer enough. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade’s heart sank. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Miles uh...he’s setting me up with a friend of his from college,” Peter gave a tiny shrug, glancing at him in the mirror, “he’s been bugging me about it for weeks now. I finally gave in.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade forced himself to raise a non-existent eyebrow instead of giving into his urge to wince.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And he scheduled a first date for Valentine’s Day? Isn’t he supposed to be a genius?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A full-bodied grimace raked through Peter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” he groaned, twisting both ties in his hands, “I told him it was a dumb idea. But he wouldn’t listen, assured me that it’d be fine. That this girl is the type to make fun of Valentine’s, not buy into it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Girl.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The four-letter word shouldn’t have been like a bomb going off in Wade’s brain, but it was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His heart sank lower.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Like you ever had a chance either way, </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Cronenberg wannabe]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>{Eldritch monster motherfucker}</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A beat passed where Wade watched Peter struggle to knot his tie after choosing the burgundy one. Heaving a sigh, he crossed the room, and before he could talk himself out of it, stood behind him and reached over his shoulders, gently batting Peter’s hands away, his nimble fingers re-tying it into something resembling a windsor knot. He could feel Peter’s eyes burning a hole into him through the mirror, still as a statue, barely breathing as Wade smoothed down the tie to sit straight against his chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There. Perfect.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gave a quick tap to his shoulder before wrenching his hands back, lest he do something even more insane like start fixing his collar, letting his fingers trail along</span>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh...thanks, Wade.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Face burning with an embarrassment he had been sure he wasn’t capable of anymore, he nodded, far too frantically, before forcing himself to step away, plodding into the living room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Knock ‘em dead, Romeo. You’ll do great.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Peter gathered his belongings, Wade kept firmly out of the way, not looking directly at him as he slipped on his coat and grabbed his keys. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll uh...see ya later?” he called from across the room, “You can start season 4 without me if ya like.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade gave a fake chuckle, waving a dismissive hard, “Yeah, yeah, Casanova. I won’t wait up. Gotcha.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He glanced over for a split second, to see that Peter’s face had turned a tomato hue. His stomach squirmed at the sight, but he plastered on a smile regardless, shooting him a little wave as he stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind him with a snap. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade didn’t stare after him. But it was a near thing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was during maybe Wade’s sixth (he lost count) Buzzfeed Unsolved episode, while he had a luke-warm bowl of ramen two inches from his face, shoving chopsticks in his mouth, that he heard the jiggle of the front door unlocking. Slowly, he lowered the bowl, muting the TV and watching as the door slowly creaked open, revealing his roommate, looking much the same as when he had left, except for the notable droop of his shoulders. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The date hadn’t gone well, then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade hated himself for the light wave of relief that washed over him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Any left for me?” Peter asked as he trudged into the room, not bothering to take off his coat or scarf, instead practically collapsing into the couch beside him, blinking at the TV. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade watched the side of his face intently, for any sign of distress. All he found was a layer of...weariness lining his handsome features. Not the best of emotions, but definitely not the worst one to have after a first date. Wordlessly, he stood up, and fixed a bowl of Picante Chicken, along with a mug of cocoa. As he walked them back into the living room, he was warmed by the sight of Peter, coat, scarf and shoes off, feet up on the coffee table and Wade’s Henry Cavill blanket around him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked cozy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soft.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade swallowed the lump in his throat, holding out the dishes for him to take.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks Wade,” he smiled up at him, his pinky finger brushing against his and causing a bolt of electricity to shoot up his arm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter seemed unfazed though, merely gesturing to the TV.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t start season 4 without me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade cleared his throat, recovering from his pathetic, tough-starved blunder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And have a Cas-girl like you miss out on Lazarus Rising? No way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter gave a snort at that, already digging into his noodles, shoving them into his mouth at a frankly alarming speed, (not that Wade was in any shape to judge), and settling himself deeper into the couch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” he smiled softly, mid-chew, gesturing with the remote, “you uh, wanna watch the episode now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade took a seat, careful to leave an acceptable amount of space between them. As the title credits started up, he let himself relax. He wasn’t going to ask, and Peter probably wasn’t going to tell him. But that was okay. They were still getting to know each other, they didn’t have to share every little detail of</span>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The date was a disaster,” Peter broke through his thoughts, twirling his chopsticks around in the bowl. “We just didn't click, you know? Zero spark. I’m uh...I’m gonna give dating another break, I think. Focus on...my work.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade gave a non-committal hum, not trusting himself to speak.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was probably for the best. For both of them. Peter to focus on his work, and Wade, to get over his silly, mounting crush. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Happy Valentine’s Day, Pete,” he raised his cup of cocoa, wanting to mark the occasion nonetheless. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter mirrored him, that same soft smile on his face as they clinked cups.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Happy Valentine’s Day, Wade.”  </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<b>
    <em>MARCH</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought it was O’Malleys?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I could’ve sworn it was O’Reilly’s.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure it was an O’something? There’s the Mean Fiddler on 47th?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, that...could be it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade smirked at Peter’s lost expression as they weaved in and out of throngs of people decked out in fifty shades of green, waving the same tricolour flags and stumbling probably a little too much for the early-evening. But that was the wonder of day-drinking on March 17th. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“PETER PARKER!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The roommates’ heads shot up to the voice across the street, to see a younger man, (about twenty-five if Wade had to guess) wearing a giant, green hat, emblazoned with "Póg mo Thoin," waving frantically at them while jumping up and down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s Miles,” Peter chuckled, offering a small wave back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade gave a nervous attempt at a smile. This was his first time to meet Peter’s best friend, and after everything he had heard about the kid, (child prodigy, genius scientist and amazing artist - Peter had some of his artwork framed in his room) he was feeling a little...daunted. The kid was practically Peter’s surrogate little brother, so he desperately wanted to make a good first impression.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Riiiiiight. ‘Cause there’s nothing more impressive than a high school dropout-turned-Special Forces-turned-mercenary-turned-hired-fixer] </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter’s hazel eyes narrowed a little, raking over his face before lightly punching him on the arm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be nervous, dude. Miles is gonna love you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade’s quirked his nonexistent eyebrow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter merely began pushing him across the street, strong hands splayed across his shoulders, barely waiting for the pedestrian light to change, like the true New Yorker he was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on. Let’s get a few beers. You’ll be best bros in no time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘A few beers’ quickly turned into several disgusting, green shots. Chased down by the decidedly tastier whiskey sours made with a healthy pour of Jameson. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And the duck had a monocle!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The table erupted with laughter, Miles clapping Wade on the back and snorting into his ear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Woo! Wade my man, where have you </span>
  <em>
    <span>been</span>
  </em>
  <span> all my life?” he yelled over the music as he slammed his empty glass back down, they all cracking up at Wade’s anecdote about the time he chased a Fortune 500 crook in the snow in Vancouver while the man wore nothing but rubber-duck-adorned boxer briefs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Canada mostly,” Wade chuckled, “I only moved to the States maybe...ten years ago?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miles grinned, holding up a new glass of disgustingly-green liquid, “Canada’s loss is our gain, man.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter chuckled as they all clinked glasses, an adorable flush to his cheeks that had Wade’s stomach fluttering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sláinte!” </span>
</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <span>~*~</span>
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sliver of sunlight peeked through the crack in their living room drapes, settling perfectly upon Peter Parker’s forehead, burning a hole into his firmly-shut eyelids. Groaning, he tried burying his face deeper into the couch cushions in an effort to block out the light, but was hindered by the unmistakable sound of his roommate shuffling up to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, sunshine!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade sounded annoyingly chipper for a guy who drank just as much, if not twice the amount as him last night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you,” he groaned into the crook of his elbow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aww, now Petey, that’s not a very nice thing to say to the man that held your hair back as you puked last night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You did no such thing,” he murmured into the couch, “you recorded me on your phone and laughed when I tripped over that traffic cone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes I did, Dr. Suess. I am only human.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As I said. Fuck you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Canadian merely laughed, it high and sharp, grating against Peter’s sensitive temples, but he felt himself smile all the same. There was just something so infectious about Wade’s laugh that even when he felt like death warmed up, and it was clearly at his expense, he still wanted to laugh with him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, big guy. Sit up. I got your hangover remedy right here.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If it’s hair of the dog, I will literally barf on you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aww, ye of little faith, Parker. Give me some credit."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shaking his head, Peter resigned himself to his fate and forced himself to sit up, his entire world immediately tipping on its axis. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, hey, I gotcha buddy,” strong hands gripped him by the shoulders, helping him sit back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter repressed a shiver at Wade’s touch, mentally scolded himself. He had spent the majority of the last three months convincing himself that he wasn’t crushing on his new roommate. He just...wasn’t. Couldn’t be. Because this apartment was a steal, in a good part of the city and the commute was great for work. He couldn’t possibly put all that in jeopardy just because he happened to have a lot of things in common with a pretty sweet guy. A guy who had made him laugh more in one day than anyone else (excluding Miles) had in a month. A guy who had quickly become his close friend. A close friend that he didn’t want to lose any time soon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, yeah. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No crush here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Miles?” he croaked, forcing himself to speak, if only to block out his internal downward spiral.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade floated into his blurry line of vision, depositing something on the coffee table and taking a seat beside him on the couch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Miles is currently spread-eagled on your bed. You were ever the gentleman last night and offered it up. I did extend the invitation for us to go top to tail in my boudoir, but you seemed particularly excited about ‘breaking in the couch.’ Which, I kinda took as a euphemism for some solo-Hugh-Jackmaning so didn’t push.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Heat flooded Peter’s face at that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Solo Hugh Jackmaning?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade shrugged a shoulder, it brushing against Peter’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you know. Driving stick-shift, the five finger fandango, burpin’ the baby, the ol’ sword in the</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please stop,” Peter groaned, letting his head tip to the side, realising far too late how close they were and finding his temple resting under Wade’s jaw. He felt him stiffen, ever so slightly, before relaxing into it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I do not have a crush.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He kept his head where it was.</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t jerk off on the couch, just FYI. I passed out like, immediately,” he insisted, ignoring the swoop in his stomach before continuing, “now what were you saying about a hangover cure?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade chuckled, his whole body vibrating with it, his shoulder lightly bouncing against where Peter’s ear rested. Blearily, his eyes landed on what had been deposited on the coffee table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are those cinnamon rolls?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yep.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was feeling better already.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<b>
    <em>APRIL</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>(Aunt) MAY</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, let me get this straight - your aunt May’s birthday is in May?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yep,” Peter nodded, chewing on the end of his pen, typing frantically. “May fifth. Three days from now.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Three, huh? I have not been flipping that calendar enough.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter made a noise of agreement as he continued to type up his report on his rapidly dying laptop. Before he could even open his mouth to ask Wade to get his charger however, he soon found the warning notice disappearing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” he threw a smile over his shoulder, catching his roommate in the act of straightening up beside the outlet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade smiled back, waving his hand dismissively, flipping over the calendar to read May 2nd before going back to sharpening his Bowie knife. It should have bothered him, Peter knew it should. The weaponry. The not-quite-legal job his roommate held. And maybe it had, at some point, right at the very start. But that was before he began hanging out with him more. Getting to know him as a person, as a friend. Not to mention all the people he came into contact with that Wade had helped over the years. His friend Risa being one of many, his perspective started to change. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She wants to meet you,” he murmured, shoving down the fluttery feeling in his stomach that he was labelling nerves but knew was probably a mix of something else too, forcing himself to keep his eyes on his screen, “my Aunt May.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t have to be looking at Wade to know that a myriad of expressions were crossing his face, he just wasn’t sure which emotion was the most dominant. So he powered through the rest of his speech before any possible protest could occur. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She says she’s half convinced you’re not real. That I have to be making you up because you sound, and I quote, ‘too good to be true,’ end quote.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade was silent at that. Too silent. But Peter didn’t dare turn around, could practically feel his heart in his throat as he stayed staring at his laptop, eyes unfocused and writing blurry in the dimly-lit room. He was downplaying this, he knew he was. But Wade didn’t need to know that. His roommate didn’t need to know how much of a big deal meeting Peter's only living relative was for him. How only people that Peter was close with, that he held in high regard and was planning on staying close with, ever got the invitation to the Parker household. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(But that wasn’t on his aunt’s lack of trying.) </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were a few people she had asked to meet over the years, work colleagues, friends from college, but Peter dragged his heels a bit. Didn’t feel like they...earned that coveted spot in his life. The last person he brought home to meet his aunt was Miles, (who she instantly adopted as a second nephew, of course) but it had been a long, long time since he felt that pull towards someone else. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then he met Wade. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And knew immediately that the pull he felt towards him was similar, but decidedly less brotherly than what he felt for Miles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He talked about Wade constantly, if May Parker was to be believed. And that was worrying for a whole host of reasons. She had been insisting that he bring him around for lunch for over two months now, very intrigued by his enigmatic, Canadian roommate that “had Peter smiling more”, and, “coming out of his shell again.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Again, worrying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter had fobbed her off thus far though, not for any reason against Wade, but for himself. His stomach clenched when his aunt said those things. His cheeks flushed when he caught himself rambling about something hilarious Wade had done that morning. His skin itched when he let his mind wander, late at night as he lay in bed, wondering if Wade was doing the same in his room directly across the hall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His heart surged when he thought about the fact that he was pretty sure that Wade owned the building and charged less than half the rent of neighbouring apartments, all of it going back into the building’s upkeep, purely because he could. Because he was a good person.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter Parker was in trouble.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he knew it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I look forward to meeting the woman you so venerate.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter blinked, the odd phrase spitting him from his reverie. Turning around in his seat, he allowed himself to look at Wade, who was notably not looking back, instead hyper-focussed on buffing the throwing stars he always insists are purely for decoration.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Venerate?” he asked, searching for the definition of the word in the back of his mind and coming up empty.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Venerate,” Wade repeated, still focussed on his task, his hands moving rhythmically in a way that had Peter entranced, “it’s the word of the day. It means regard with great respect.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter forced his eyes away from his roommate and over to the calendar that did indeed say just that, right under the picture of a smirking Bea Arthur. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Great,” he smiled, swivelling back around towards his laptop, his chest lighter while his stomach fluttered, “I’ll tell her you’re coming on Saturday.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade hummed in agreement, “Sounds good. It’s probably about time I make my grand introduction in person. We have been swapping recipes over email every Sunday for like weeks now.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter blinked, convinced he had misheard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slowly, he turned back to face him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Swapping recipes? Please tell me that’s not a euphemism.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A laugh burst from Wade, forcing him to look up and finally catch Peter’s eye, who smirked right back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, Parker. I’ve been wooing your aunt this whole time with my pecan pie and Nanaimo bar recipes,” he snorted, rubbing the back of his neck in a move that Peter had learned meant that he was feeling self-conscious.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter felt a little bad for putting him on the spot, but was still compelled to ask:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> did you get my aunt's email?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade cleared his throat, giving a half-shrug, “She added me as a friend on Facebook.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter rolled his eyes, well used to his aunt’s antics.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course she did.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Saturday came quicker than Peter expected, he finding himself on the doorstep of his childhood home in seemingly a blink, birthday present tucked securely under his arm and noticeably nervous roommate practically vibrating at his side as he unlocked the door and called out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aunt May! We’re here!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first syllable had barely left his mouth before the blur of his aunt buzzed into the room, bypassing him entirely and striding straight up to Wade, holding her arms out wide. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well if it isn’t Mr Top Chef himself, Wade Wilson,” she grinned warmly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade, clearly stunned, still managed to take a step forward, accepting her hug, patting her gently on the back with one hand and holding out his homemade lemon slices with the other. A soft, pleased smile passed over May’s face, her eyes lighting up as she glanced from Wade, to the dessert, to Peter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looking her nephew dead in the eye, she quirked an eyebrow in the way that always made him squirm, inherently knowing that they would be having quite a conversation later on. One that would involve words like, “companionship” and “getting back out there” and god forbid, “love.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But for now, all she said, with a gentle pat to both their shoulders was, </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I like this one, Pete. He’s a keeper.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So, so much trouble.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>JUNE</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>JULY</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“O Canada, our home and native land—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know we have neighbours, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“True patriot love in all of us command—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Neighbours who have called the cops on us twice before.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Car ton bras sait porter l'épée</span>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh we’re doing French now.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Il sait porter la croix!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wade</span>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I have to listen to you spangle-bannering on the 4th eagle-boy, you can listen to me now</span>
  <span>. </span>
  <span>Ton histoire est une épopée…”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>AUGUST</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade woke up nervous. Considering his track-record with ill-thought-out hookups, it wasn’t a wholly foreign feeling, eyes snapping open to the feeling of a ball of dread in the pit of his stomach. But what was odd about this time, was that the nervousness didn’t revolve around Wade or what, (or who) he had done. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No. Today was promotion day. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or rather, it was the day Peter found out whether or not he got to be the lead scientist on a research project that he had been excited about for over a year. And somehow, that translated into Wade waking up with nervous butterflies fluttering around his stomach as he awaited word from his roommate. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How had he gotten here?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(He had a fair idea, but was ignoring it for the sake of his...well. Everything.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a groan, he stretched, his joints cracking and popping loudly, a constant and annoying reminder of the unrelenting passage of time. Slowly, he sat up, groggily wiping sleep from his eyes, the sheets pooling around his naked lap. He had slept completely nude last night, for the first time in a long time. The heat in New York had been unbearable for weeks now, the hot August sun singeing the ground like a giant magnifying glass over a city of ants, and trying to sleep was like being slowly submerged in a stew of your own sweat and other bodily excretions. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was gross. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, he hung up his Batman pajamas and wore his birthday suit for the first time since Peter moved in with him. It had been a good decision, all in all. He woke up less a soupy mess and more of a just slightly-sticky grump. Plus, it made getting ready for a shower a lot easier. With the rickety pipes calling out to him like a siren luring him to his (un)death, he stood up, rubbing the back of his neck as the hot air of the room tickled his chicken tenders.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Showering didn’t take long either, he was far too anxious to even entertain the idea of knocking one out, so he just did the cursory rub down (sometimes the lack of hair was a blessing) and called it a day, stepping out into the muggy steam and snatching up one of the small towels adored with sun emojis that he and Peter had bought in Ikea to wrap around his waist. Distractedly, he shuffled back into his room to start searching for underwear when a very familiar voice reached his ears. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wade! WADE! WHERE ARE YOU!? I GOTTA TEL—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter Parker burst into his room, chest heaving and face flushed, a wild look in his eye as he froze on the spot, a deer caught in the headlights that was Wade’s naked body. Wade too was stunned motionless, hand gripping the corner of his towel like a vice, a hot wave of what he knew was the foreign feeling of embarrassment washing over him, tinged with something else that felt a lot like shame as he was painfully reminded of the carnage that was his body, now fully on display.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two roommates stared at one another, their eyes, hazel and chocolate brown locking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The already stifling air grew even more breathless as time wore on, seconds ticking by as Peter very obviously struggled to keep his eyes as north as possible. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or bad. Before he could feel either way however, his roommate seemed to come back online, physically shaking himself and turning on his heel, apologetic ramblings falling from his mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit, dude, I’m sorry. I—I shouldn’t have just barged in. I’ll uh...I’ll just wait outside and—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The word jumped from Wade’s mouth without any input from his brain whatsoever. Peter, the beautiful bastard that he was, didn’t call him on it, merely staying where he was, as if awaiting further instruction and fuck, if that didn’t do something dangerous to Wade’s entire being. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shoving down that base reaction, he hurriedly threw on whatever he could find, forgoing boxers, pretty sure his boardshorts were on back to front, hands shakingly wrenching a faded Spice Girls tee over his head, not caring that he probably looked like a ‘90s acid-wash reject auditioning for The Real World. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I’m decent.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Peter turned back around, his face still a bright tomato-shade. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade’s stomach swooped at the sight, unable to ignore how unbelievably cute he was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You uh...wanted to tell me something?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was never more proud of his mouth being able to operate without any express input from his brain than in that moment, because he was pretty sure all he was managing to do was convert oxygen to carbon dioxide so he wouldn’t pass out from the tension. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah,” Peter shook his head as if he had forgotten the reason why he had barged in in the first place, “I uh, I got the job.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A surge of adrenaline bolted through Wade and before he could think better of it, he launched himself at Peter, throwing his arms around his shoulders and squeezing tight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, Pete! Well done, man! I’m so proud of you!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t their first hug, but it was the first where Wade was noticeably damp and their chests were so close together that they could feel each other’s heartbeats through their clothes. They were racing, both of them, ricocheting off their ribcages. Gently, Peter raised his hands and rested them on the small of his back, his thumbs brushing just slightly above his tail bone. Arousal licked at Wade’s spine as he leaned slightly back, fighting a shiver, feeling his face heat up as their eyes met. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter tilted his head slightly, eyes calculating, searching.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For what, Wade didn’t know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stared back. He felt hot and itchy and nervous and horny all at once. He wasn't sure there was an exact word for it, the Germans probably had something suitable, but English failed him. Still, he felt compelled to break the stifling silence, the tension near unbearable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Peter edged forward, hazel eyes wide and dark. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Holy shit, is he leaning</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade’s line of thought was cut off by an abrupt beep of a text message.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter jumped, hands falling from Wade as he threw him an apologetic smile and stepped back, fishing his phone out of his pocket.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh it’s uh...it’s Aunt May, wanting an update on the meeting,” he murmured distractedly, thumbs darting across the screen to reply.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade blinked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait...you haven’t told her yet?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter hummed in agreement, gaze still on his phone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, you ran all the way home to tell me in person, but you didn’t call your aunt?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade watched as his roommate froze, his actions no doubt catching up to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yep.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I gotta call her.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yep.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m a terrible nephew.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yep.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A laugh bubbled up Peter’s throat at that, strong hand coming up to push at Wade’s chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you, Wilson. Be flattered, I told you first, asshole.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Warmth pooled in his stomach. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>flattered. Beyond flattered. So, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>far beyond it that it scared him. Naming what exactly that feeling was, downright terrifying. So he did what he had always done over the last eight months whenever faced with his feelings for Peter. He ignored them and made a joke. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aunt May is gonna rip </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> a new asshole for making her wait this long,” he chuckled, “can you put it on speaker phone so I can listen?”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>SEPTEMBER</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe we finally get to meet Gwen.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know, right?” Peter grinned, “Miles has been gushing about her for weeks now. I feel like I know her already.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade smirked, well-versed in their friend’s antics, “Ah, young love.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter hummed in agreement, coming to stand behind him in the mirror, where Wade had been wrestling with his shirt collar for the last five minutes. It wasn’t a fancy affair, just a few drinks and some food at a bar downtown, but Wade had insisted he wear a shirt for the occasion. Peter had a sneaking suspicion that the reason he was so adamant was that he wanted to make a good first impression on the woman their friend was so obviously smitten with already, but said nothing, admiring the line of his shoulders in the wine, tailored-shirt too much. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s a goner,” Peter replied warmly, turning Wade around to face him and reaching up to fix the collar himself, smoothing it down, letting his hands brush over his chest just slightly. It reminded him of all those months ago, when he had gone on that ill-fated date, when Wade had fixed his tie for him and Peter thought about his hands on his shoulders ever since.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t dare to look up, focussing instead on retracting his own treacherous hands. Ever since a few weeks ago, when they had shared that hug, when Peter had begun leaning forward, unthinkingly, the urge to brush their lips together overwhelming, he found himself touching Wade more, standing closer to him, and just being altogether far too obvious and cringey and smitten himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not that Wade had noticed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which, in a way was a good thing, but in another, stung a little.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Back in June when they had both explicitly disclosed their not-straight sexualities over text, Peter had become consumed with an onslaught of dreams and fantasies and very inconvenient hopes. Up until then, he had managed to curtail his mounting crush by insisting his roommate was off limits because he refused to be a creep or a cliche by falling for a probable (everyone, regardless of sexuality, drooled over Cavill) straight guy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But then, he read the word ‘pansexual’ and all bets were off. His subconscious had taken the wheel and steered him straight (heh) into crushville, party of one. Lately though, it had been growing a smidge more...serious, shifting ever so slightly right in a way that had him antsy. Wade was the first person Peter thought about when he woke up (always ready to tell him all about the crazy dream he’d just had) and the last person he thought about before he went to sleep at night, (their interactions during the day on a film-reel in his mind.) </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then there was the hug.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That hug. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The hug that had been preceded by Peter accidentally walking in on a wet, towel-clad Wade and his heart almost stopping. He knew his roommate was self conscious about his body, the damage to it, and he hated that he made him so uncomfortable, but simultaneously, he had been mesmerised. Stunned. The line of muscle, damp and glistening in the sunlight, the strong, sharp ridges proof of just how in shape Wade was just knocking him dead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter’s brain had short-circuited at the sight, forgetting the entire reason he had barged into his room in the first place. Then, the hug itself, pressed that close to Wade in his silly, adorable, weirdly-hot ‘90s getup, little droplets of water still clinging to his neck, smelling fresh and clean with a hint of citrus, it had almost been enough to make him forget himself, leaning further into him than he had ever dared before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The same hug Peter’s brain played on repeat at the most inopportune moments - during meetings, when he and Wade were cooking dinner, and once, memorably, when a barista was obviously flirting with him, having written her number on the side of his cup, only for him to blurt out he had “a friend...boyfr—it’s complicated!” and darted from the shop without his coffee. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smooth was Peter’s middle name.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clearly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, yeah. It was becoming a problem. ‘It’ being his growing feelings for his single, not-straight, close friend. Had been a problem for a good few months now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Pete. PETER!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter jumped, spat from his reverie as a hand waved across his face. Blinking, he finally let himself meet Wade’s eye, who threw him a concerned look. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You okay, man?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Numb, Peter forced himself to nod, plastering on his brightest, fakest smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure, yeah. Let’s go watch Miles be a lovesick puppy.” </span>
</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <span>~*~</span>
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gwendolyne Stacy was an absolute riot. And Miles Morales was absolutely adorable around her. Neither of those things were particularly surprising to Wade, but being privy to it up close and personal, was very amusing nonetheless. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And then this guy,” Gwen punched Miles in the shoulder, her short blonde hair swooping at the movement, “finally gets up the nerve to ask me for coffee before I can put the moves on him first. Rude.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade snorted into his glass as Peter chuckled next to him, their shoulders brushing in a way that had his heart skipping a beat. They had been at the bar for about two hours now, and it seemed his roommate had finally started to relax. Something had been up with him lately, Wade didn’t have to be a genius to figure that out, he just wasn’t sure what it was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What about you two,” Gwen tilted her head, waving a hand between them, “how long have you been together?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade’s heart clenched in his chest as he felt Peter’s entire body stiffen next to him. A million different responses whirred in his brain, but Peter jumped in before he could open his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh uh...we’re not...we’re roommates. Friends.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It shouldn’t have felt like the end of the world. Like taking a plunge off a cliffside only to realise jagged rocks lay at the bottom, but it did. Wade took a deep breath and jumped anyway, accepting his fate with a curt nod.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Riiiight,” Gwen replied slowly, something laced in her tone that Wade couldn’t name, “well, in that case, I could set you guys up on a blind date?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No doubt at the twin looks of confusion Wade could feel they were throwing at her, Gwen elaborated, “Dates, plural. Like, with friends of mine. Guys, gals, non-binary pals, whatever. You’re both way too hot and interesting to be single.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Hot? This chick blind?]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I appreciate the offer blondie, I do,” Wade held up his hands, not meeting her eye, “but nobody wants to date this trainwreck, trust me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, his field of vision was flooded with colour as Peter leaned into him, frown marring his handsome face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about, Wade? You’re a catch. Who wouldn’t wanna date you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their eyes locked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Seconds ticked by as he waited for Peter to look away. To confirm his silent suspicion that yes, Peter was perfect example of someone who wouldn’t date Wade. But he didn’t look away. Neither did Wade.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m with Peter,” Gwen piped up,  Miles making noises of agreement, both sounding as if they were in another building entirely and not right across from them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew he was gaping like a goldfish, he did, but he was helpless to do much else. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Peter, I think you’d really like—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I appreciate it too, Gwen, but I’m good,” Peter cut across her, finally breaking eye contact with Wade, taking a sip of his beer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Wade agreed, sounding dazed, still staring at the side of his face, “he's sworn off dating. Right, Pete?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t sure what answer he wanted to hear. That yes, Peter had sworn off dating for the foreseeable future. Or that no, he hadn’t, but he just wasn’t in the mood to be set up. Or actually, he’d already found someone and—no. No way that was an option. Wade would know if Peter was already seeing someone. And if not, Peter would have told him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Right? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter cleared his throat, peeling the label off his beer with meticulous precision. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah. I—I’m not dating right now.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade’s heart did...something, at that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>{See? Peter’s not interested in dating. Least of all his gross, loud, messy nutjob of a roommate. Get over your dumb as fuck crush before you ruin the best friendship you’ve had in years}</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Maybe ever]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Problem was, it was far, far too late for that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew his crush was a hell of a lot more than just that now. Had been for a while.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Dumbass] </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>OCTOBER</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>NOVEMBER</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>November 22nd was the bane of Wade Winston Wilson’s existence. Had been for thirty-plus (the plus being his business) years now. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His birthday.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gross. But this year was turning out different than all other years previously had. Because this year, he had one Peter Benjamin Parker in his life. Peter who, by sheer coincidence, happened to be born on November 25th. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You wanna do a joined thing?” he had asked one morning, early in the month, as he typed away on his laptop, driving Wade crazy as he sucked on the end of his pen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What like a birthday party for both of us?” he croaked before clearing his throat, lest he give away his wandering, lecherous thoughts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter kept typing as he replied, “Well, my birthday is the day before Thanksgiving this year, so I’m not super hopeful of my chances of people being available. So we could try on your birthday instead? Miles and Gwen would be down, and maybe you could ask Weasel and Bob?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade hummed, taking a sip of his cinnamon latte. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(That coffee machine that May had gifted Peter as a housewarming present was a godsend.) </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, maybe. Honestly Petey, I don’t really celebrate my birthday most years. After thirty, it just becomes depressing.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter’s eyes shot up and met his. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> we’re definitely doing something! You honestly telling me you haven’t celebrated your birthday in years?!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade nodded, taking another sip from his cup and watching as Peter stared at him, an indecipherable expression on his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then it’s settled. We’ll have a joint-thing. Dinner, drinks, the works. And it won’t be depressing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Easy for you to say Mr ‘Thirty, Flirty and Thriving’.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter grinned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wade, your birthday is important too! You only turn—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Parker. It’s hard enough being friends with toddlers like Miles and Gwen </span>
  <em>
    <span>without</span>
  </em>
  <span> talking about my age. In fact, I don’t age. Time is fake.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter chuckled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll have lunch and cake with Aunt May during the day, then go out that night,” he murmured as he began scribbling a note for himself, “and I expect some hangover cinnamon rolls.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As you wish.” </span>
</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p> <span>~*~</span></p>
</div><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was drunk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not quite fall down or pick a bar fight kinda drunk, but the buzzed, floaty kind that made him feel all warm inside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or maybe that was the arm around his shoulders. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can walk, Pete,” he murmured into soft skin, only to immediately disprove himself by stumbling, stubbing his toe on the sidewalk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure ya can, bud,” Peter replied, strong arms keeping him upright as they slowly and unsteadily made their way towards their apartment block.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Wade agreed to the obvious note of sarcasm, feeling like Geralt of Rivia, which had him daydreaming about Henry Cavill long enough that he didn’t realise they had somehow already made it to their front door without him noticing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I can do this,” Peter whispered a little pep talk to himself as he tried and failed to slot the key into the lock, his fingers fumbling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was here that Wade realised two things. One, Peter was drunker than he had originally seemed, and two, he still had his arm around Wade's shoulders, instead of sensibly letting go of him and using both hands to try unlock the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grinned a little at that, basking in the heat of their bodies pressed together.  He could practically feel the forced concentration wafting from his roommate as he squinted with one eye and tried again and again to insert the key before finally it unlocked, the door creaking open. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whew,” Peter exhaled as if truly exerted from the effort before hauling Wade’s ass over the threshold, almost entirely effortlessly, in a display of strength that never failed to have Wade’s gut clenching. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“In we go,” Pete continued almost to himself, kicking the door closed behind them and starting down the corridor towards their bedrooms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All manner of sexy thoughts assaulted Wade as they drew closer, his heart pounding in his chest as he saw himself, in his mind's eye, pulling Peter even more flush against him before backing him into a wall and kissing him senseless. Shaking his head, he tried to force his vodka-soaked brain to steer away from those less than safe fantasies and focus more on the present, only to be greeted by the very real hands of Peter Parker pushing him down onto his bed and standing over him, a soft, tired smile on his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>God, Wade </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t his first time thinking it. And it probably wouldn’t be the last. But it never stopped feeling simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating. Like freefalling at thirty thousand feet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You wait here, I’m gonna go get you some water and Advil. You’ll thank me in the morning.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before Wade could thank him now, Peter had swept out of the room, only stumbling slightly, a navy blur to his heavy and inebriated eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m in love with him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>{Yep.} </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[You dumb fuck]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Staring up at his ceiling, Wade stretched out on his bed and heaved a sigh. He had lived with worse than being in love with his best friend, he supposed. He could cope. There were worse things than pining over someone who would never feel the same about you. He just couldn’t think of them right now. He was too drunk and too sad. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been a great night though, all things considered. Miles and Gwen were hilarious and cute as always, Bob and Weasel weren’t too weird and Blind Al and Aunt May teaming up and murdering Wade and Peter in doubles pool despite being down two eyes was just the cherry on the cake. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had easily been the best birthday Wade had had in years. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe ever.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So why did he feel about three seconds away from crying? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The faucet is leaking again,” Peter’s voice broke through his downward spiral as he made his way back into the room, depositing a large glass of water and several pills on the bedside table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll talk to Jerry tomorrow,” Wade promised, knowing Peter wasn’t always great dealing with their superintendent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cool,” Peter replied, smile evident in his tone before he reached down and deftly removed Wade’s shoes, kicking them under the bed and throwing the blanket over him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mm, thanks,” Wade muttered, eyes already slipping closed, the siren call of sleep luring him in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I gotcha,” came the response, suddenly a lot closer, the bed dipping beside him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade’s eyes snapped open as Peter climbed into the bed next to him, suddenly dressed only in his undershirt and boxers, shimmying down the mattress as if he did so every night, placing his glasses on the other bedside table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uhhhh…” Wade croaked unintelligibly, trying and failing to catch the expression on his friend’s face in the dark room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gotta make sure you don’t throw up and choke to death like Jane in Breaking Bad, dude. That would not be a fun birthday present for me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With that, Peter lay down fully, heaving a sigh far more contented than Wade’s had been and mumbling a gentle, “Tonight was fun. Happy birthday, Wade.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A beat passed where he tried to regulate his heart rate. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah it was. Happy birthday, Peter.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sleep came quicker and easier than it had in years, his best friend's soft breaths lulling him into a dreamless slumber...</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>DECEMBER</em>
  </b>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Santa Buddy’ is the stupidest, no-homo bullshit I have ever heard,” Wade groused, skipping the Michael Bublé travesty of a cover on their Christmas playlist, “like Mikey, my man, just be gay for Santa. Nobody would blame you. He gives bomb ass gifts.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>May laughed, shaking her head as she deposited the fresh batch of cookies on the coffee table, passing a cup of cocoa over to Miles who was busy marvelling at a picture of Peter’s bar mitzvah. The holiday season at the Parker household was a mishmash of two traditions, both Jewish and Christian, to celebrate, as Peter had put it to Wade, his “delightful half and half situation.” Wade had particularly vibed with Hanukkah's whole deal. Big fan. The baby pictures that went along with it, were just an added bonus. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, leave that one, Wade," May called out at the opening bars of one of the songs he almost skipped over. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day, you gave it anyway…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George Michael. Wham? Either way, a classic. Wade approved.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter wrinkled his nose playfully as he entered the room, clearly questioning the music choice but letting it slide, instead helping Rick, his aunt's boyfriend and Miles' uncle, place the rest of the food on the table. Christmas Eve day was the annual Parker-Morales family lunch. Had been for three years now. And this year, they had a new guest - Wade. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn't Wade's first or even dozenth time in Peter's childhood home, but somehow, at this time of year, his presence among family, in the house that meant so much to Peter, felt that much more profound. He could barely keep his eyes off him and his ugly Christmas sweater sporting Santa on a surfboard (that complemented his own of Santa in sunglasses with the caption 'Santa Says Relax'), the entire time they had been here and he knew it had not gone unnoticed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(If the multiple side-eyes he had been receiving from all others present were any indication.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"She's gonna start singing any second now," Peter no doubt felt compelled to warn their guests, having already lamented of how his aunt got around Christmas music after a glass or two of mulled wine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, hush," the woman in question waved at him dismissively before reaching out and grabbing Wade's hand, pulling him beside her with surprising strength. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wade, may I have this dance?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He chuckled, accepting, holding her hand in his, placing his other respectively on her hip and allowing her to lead, swaying them around the living room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Finally, a good dancer," she exclaimed dreamily, "everyone else here has two left feet." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both Peter and Rick let out noises of disagreement, but Miles merely raised his cup of cocoa in cheers to his terrible waltzing abilities. Wade could feel Peter’s eyes on him as he and May danced and felt heat rise from his sweater collar that had nothing to do with its wool. His roommate's eyes were soft, dare he think it, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fond</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as he watched them, small smile playing about his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade forced his gaze back to May who was fixing him with another knowing stare. At least her fifth of the day, a record surely. But thankfully, George's crooning had come to an end and she dropped his hand, with a gentle pat on his shoulder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Thank you, Wade," she beamed up at him, cupping his cheek, "be a good boy and help Peter bring out the rest of the mulled wine from the pantry, would you?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nodding gently, he caught Peter's eyes over the top of her head and dutifully followed him, feeling wholly </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a way that had his stomach twisting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>May knows, she knows, fuck, she</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It should be just...oh, here," the sound of Peter's voice spat him from his reverie, they both stepping in the pantry door and finding the pitcher of mulled wine and several glasses waiting for them on the counter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just as Peter was leaning down to pick it up however, his gaze caught on something above Wade's head that had him freezing, his eyes wide. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Uh, Wade." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade stilled, instantly on edge. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What? What’s wrong?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Don't freak out." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He immediately began freaking out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh shit, what is it? Is it a spider?! Get it Peter, fuck!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter relaxed slightly, an indecipherable expression on his face which did not help Wade in the least. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Uh, no, it's not...just...look up." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Swallowing down a sense of foreboding, Wade did as he was told, glancing up to the top of the door frame that they were standing under, his eyes landing on a familiar, green plant. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mistletoe</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His stomach dropped. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"O-Oh." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Seconds seemed to scrape by at a snail’s pace as they both just stood there, heads tilted up, neither willing to move a muscle. Finally, whatever spell had befallen them broke, as Peter cleared his throat, shifting his weight from foot to foot, clearly about to say something when Wade cut in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You don't have to, we don't...it's cool if you don't wanna, Pete. I won't be offended, or any—" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lips pressed softly against his, feather-light and quick, almost enough for Wade to think he imagined it. Only, when Peter pulled back, the flush across his cheeks was a dead give away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Shit, sorry," Peter winced, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes averted, "you probably didn't want to—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade pressed a kiss to his lips, as soft and quick as Peter's had been, stepping back and feeling his own face burn with mirrored heat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They blinked at each other. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Twice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They collided in a tangle of limbs as their lips met again, harder this time, both stumbling with the force of it. Wade felt his back thump against the wall as Peter licked his bottom lip, his hands gripping his hips tightly through his sweater. With a broken groan, he opened his mouth wider, deepening the kiss, knees almost buckling as Peter slipped his tongue into his mouth, brushing it against his. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Weaving his fingers into that soft hair he had dreamt of for months, Wade kissed Peter back with everything in him, fearing that this was his one and only chance, under the guise of holiday tradition, so he better make it good. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Only, Peter responded with a choked groan of his own as Wade pulled him closer, resting a hand on his lower back, pressing their chests together as tightly as their hug had. This seemed above and beyond what a normal mistletoe kiss constituted. Not that he was complaining. Not one little bit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Shit, I…that was..." Peter gasped as they broke for air, sucking in shared, harried breaths in the small, cramped room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Y-Yeah," Wade agreed shakingly, not knowing exactly what he was agreeing to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Not bad for a...a forced holiday tradition, huh?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A line formed in between Peter's eyebrows. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Forced?" He half whispered, suddenly sounding terrified, "Oh, my god. Wade did you—did I—did you not want to kiss—" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh my god, Peter, no! I mean yes!" Wade winced as his mind went into panic mode, "Of course I wanted to kiss you, dude! I thought you didn't wanna kiss me!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter's eyes widened as they finally locked gazes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wade, are you kidding? I've wanted to do that all year." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Well, fuck] </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>{We stand corrected}</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You...you have?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could hear the terror, the vulnerability in his tone, but couldn't find it in himself to care, his brain too focussed on replaying Peter's last sentence in his head over and over again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I've wanted to do that all year too. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You have?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade jumped at the question, realising that he must have said that last thought out loud. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Welp. No going back now, big guy] </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, Peter. Fuck. I've...I've had a giant crush on you pretty much from day one, man." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Riiiight. 'Cause adding 'man' on at the end makes it much less gay]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>{And haven't we established it's tragically stronger than just a 'crush' now?} </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter seemed stunned at that admission, mouth dropping open slightly. His red, swollen lips shining in the low light of the room. Molten heat pooled in Wade’s stomach at the sight. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He</span>
  </em>
  <span> had caused that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Shit, Wade I…I'm pretty sure I was a goner for you when I heard you yell, 'back you aragog motherfucker' at a tiny spider."  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade's brain did a record scratch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was back on the first day they met. Almost a </span>
  <em>
    <span>full year</span>
  </em>
  <span> ago.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You're fucking with me."  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter shook his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You're telling me we've been into each other romantic-stylez this entire goddamn time?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Seems like it, yeah." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Fuck." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They burst out laughing at that, the tension in the air dissipating almost immediately as they contemplated their mutual idiocy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What a eucatastrophe,” Wade grinned, a happiness (he hadn’t felt since he woke up last month with Peter snuggled against his back,) blooming in his chest as Peter rested his hands on his hips again, pulling them closer together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Word of the day,” he winked, “it means a happy ending to the story.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter tilted his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy ending</span>
  </em>
  <span>, huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The innuendo was not lost on either of them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> a thrilling thought now that it turned out they both wanted the same thing. Each other.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Holy shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade’s entire face was on fire, but he forced himself to keep his cool. He was marginally successful. They had time for big confessions, heartfelt declarations and maybe a horny overture or two, but now, he wanted to bask in the fun, silly, teasing, friendship...</span>
  <em>
    <span>more than friendship</span>
  </em>
  <span>, with his favourite person in the world. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, you have been </span>
  <em>
    <span>very good</span>
  </em>
  <span> this year, Peter,” he smirked, his heart practically beating out of his chest as Peter’s nimble fingers brushed over his hip bones, “you are probably due a happy ending. Or two.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A very attractive blush coloured his roommate’s/best friend’s/exciting third option’s cheeks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Promise?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wade sealed his definite promise with another kiss, reaching up and tugging gently on the short hairs on the back of Peter’s neck, tongue tracing along—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh good, you found the wine. Don’t mind me,” Aunt May breezed past them into the room, sounding more smug than either man had ever heard her as she pointedly didn’t mention their compromising position. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re busy so, I’ll just nab these,” she snatched up the pitcher and glasses effortlessly, before beginning to head out towards the kitchen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” she leaned back in the door, quirking an eyebrow at both of them, who still gaped at her, hands wrapped around each other, “I made up Peter’s old room for tonight. I take it you boys are good to share, right?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well. That solved the mystery of who put up the mistletoe, then.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope everyone is happy and healthy :) </p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://octoberobserver.tumblr.com/">My Tumblr</a></p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortexikid/works?fandom_id=130638"> My other Spideypool fics </a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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